


Juerga

by alltoseek, alxyone (Alcyone301)



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyone301/pseuds/alxyone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peace has broken out. Captain Jack Aubrey and his swordmaster Stephen Maturin are residing in the English countryside, where they meet the ladies of neighbouring Mapes Court, including Miss Sophie Williams and her swordmistress Diana Villiers.</p><p>A sequel to astolat's "Duende".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alcyone (Alcyone301)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcyone301/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Duende](https://archiveofourown.org/works/638694) by [astolat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat). 



> Many, many thanks to astolat, who gave us this wonderful universe, with which I have taken many, many liberties.
> 
> Art by the amazing JessamyGriffith
> 
> Beta'd by the fantastic feroxargentea  
>  

**Bay of Biscay**  
In the grey dawn upon the waves, just as one bit of mist could be distinguished from another as they played about in the breezes, a promising youngster with far-seeing called out land – Ushant, near certainly. Jack had checked the log board upon coming on deck, and by his reckoning they should still be some 25 miles away, which meant the lad's gift was prodigious indeed.

“When he's bonded, he may be our answer to Buonaparte,” Jack reflected. He shifted closer to his own swordmaster, who took the hint to lay his hands along Jack's shoulders, lending him additional strength for the wind-calling he was providing for their ship and her consort. Jack and Stephen were only passengers, not officers of the _Charwell_ , but once the chase began Jack had naturally offered to help. Royal Navy captains were notoriously prickly in points of pride and command, but rarely were they fools, and the _Charwell_ 's was no exception. Although grateful for Aubrey's powerful help, Captain Griffiths last night had insisted, after a long day of chasing, that Jack take a watch off to rest, to which he had grudgingly conceded. “For Stephen's sake more than mine,” he thought to himself at the time. Swordmasters enhance their bondmate's gifts, and whilst Jack himself did most of the work, there must also be some drain on Stephen, not to mention merely being awake so many hours in a row.

Jack had woken just at eight bells and been back on deck within minutes. Their consort, the frigate _Dee_ , had fallen behind in the night, and Jack pushed his limits to their extreme to bring her up. Other wind workers aboard were aiding _Charwell_ herself, or attempting to slow their chase. Jack didn't like interfering with the wind for enemy ships – it struck him as unsporting. Let each country's callers prove themselves, was his preference. However, the practicalities of war did not always align with his notions of fair play. At least as a volunteer he could choose to aid their own wind, but he could feel interference coming from the wind callers aboard the chase, and that put additional strain on him. A bare hour into the morning watch, and Jack could already feel exhaustion creep upon him. The physical touch from Stephen was rarely so necessary to him – their bond alone was usually sufficient.

Howell, the far-seeing lookout, slid down a backstay from the maintopgallant, landing with a thump that shivered through the deck. Politely he requested from the officer of the watch the best scope the ship could afford him.

“How does a scope aid a far-seer?” asked Jack in an aside to Stephen. “If it does, shouldn't they be equipped with one at all times?”

“A scope allows him to see not any farther, but in more detail. A far-seer may descry a distant tree, for example; with a scope he may then be able to distinguish its particular leaves.”

“Ah, very good. How do you know these things, Stephen? Was your first bondmate a far-seer?” The question slipped out without thought. Jack knew Stephen's late bondmate's name and that she had died in childbirth; other than that, nothing. Stephen's reticence on the subject alone should have kept Jack's questions to himself, but his mouth _would_ speak without thought sometimes, Jack reflected ruefully.

Stephen stared at him. “I read,” he said.

Blushing, Jack turned away. He wasn't much in the reading line himself. There were only so many hours in the day, and when his weren't taken up with his duties, sleeping, and eating, he was usually playing his violin, often in duets with Stephen on the 'cello.

Jack now turned his attention back to counteracting the interference from the chase. He had sought the conversation in part as a distraction from his weariness, but apparently his own speech would land him on a lee-shore faster than the enemy's efforts at manipulating wind and current. Jack had been using his gift since before he was breeched, and it was second nature to him; but there were always new subtleties to learn, especially as regards reducing the effects of the enemy's efforts with the minimum of work from oneself. Brushing it aside, as it were, or using it for another purpose, rather than bluntly attempting to shove it back. When in command of his own vessel, Jack's wind working powers were at their highest, because he could manage his sails in reaction to the enemy's wind working and their sail adjustments, to make the best use of his own powers and limit the opposition's. Captain Griffiths himself was a fire thrower: his gift would come into play when they were close enough for battle. Until then, Jack had no standing to interrupt Griffiths' cogitations, not even to make suggestions regarding the sails.

“Sail ho!” cried the lookout, now equipped with a scope. “She's signalling!”

“Mr Berry,” said Griffiths, unnecessarily, as the signal-midshipman was already retrieving his book. “Mr Howell, call out the signals!”

Berry worked frantically to record and translate as Howell called them out. Before he could finish, wonderment and then consternation broke out amongst the more experienced officers aboard.

“Peace, by damn,” murmured Mr Rodgers, the second lieutenant, who was standing next to Jack. “Hell and death, they've gone and made peace!”

~o~

Fireworks from the chase confirmed the rumour, rendering Mr Berry's report both inaudible and unnecessary for the rest of the crew. The interfering winds from the chase's callers died away, and Jack was easily able to bring the _Dee_ up to join _Charwell_.

“Is peace such a bad thing?” asked Stephen, watching the unhappy officers angrily quell the jubilation of the crew.

“No more commands,” said Jack, a little mournfully. “No more promotions – or much less hope for them. However,” he added more cheerfully, “that need not concern us. We have done very well, and can live quite comfortably on land, until I get another command. Even in peace-time England has need for a Navy. We shan't be stranded for so very long, I shouldn't think. And whilst we are, why, there are many enjoyable diversions to be had in London and the countryside.”

 

 **England, 1802**  
The Treaty of Amiens brought Captain Jack Aubrey's successful Naval career of cruising against the enemy to an end. A temporary end, Jack sincerely hoped; he had yet to be made post-captain, despite the numerous prizes he had taken and the numerous rings his swordmaster had earned him during many of those battles. Recognition of his successes and his abilities (and those of his bondmate) was bound to come sooner or later, and whilst it was wicked to hope for war, it was an unfortunate fact that peace made promotions come later rather than sooner.

An end: Captain Aubrey had lost his previous command to capture by the enemy near Gibraltar. Even Jack's naturally strong wind-working powers, enhanced as they were by Stephen's equally strong influence through their bond, had not been enough to turn the course of three French 74's, nor to enable his little brig to slip past them. Jack and his swordmaster were now homeward bound; Jack with hopes of new orders, a new command: shipless as he was now, a captain only by courtesy.

Still, Jack reflected, as wicked as war was, even wickeder was leaving one of the Navy's strongest wind-workers, along with his equally powerful swordmaster, stranded on land. He thought this without vanity, as it was merely the truth: few in the Navy could provide wind for an eight-vessel convoy; and no one else had a bondmate once referred to as the Intangible, famed throughout Europe and courted by Bonaparte himself. These last details Jack and Stephen preferred to keep to themselves, but Stephen's prowess announced itself through the gold glinting on Jack's arms and fingers.

Jack intended to be a frequent visitor to the Admiralty in London, a walking advertisement for his abilities, as well as using his persuasive powers of speech; but until such time as he was posted to a ship, he elected to lease Melbury Lodge, a neat bachelor residence in the South Downs of Sussex, there to enjoy the best of life available to the English country gentleman, whilst being close enough to London to keep an ear in the Admiralty. Fortunately Jack did not have to support himself and Stephen solely on a commander's half-pay: with the numerous prizes had come a significant amount of prize-money; enough to support his household, including a number of servants who were mostly former shipmates, such as his steward Killick and his coxswain Bonden, in a very comfortable style.

 

 **The Admiralty**  
The First Lord of the Admiralty merely sniffed at Jack’s display of rings and bands. His own swordmaster, Brenton, had provided him with a generous amount; and in any case the number of rings an officer happened to possess was hardly an indication of their suitability for any given commission. “There are positions available in the Fencibles,” St Vincent offered. “I hear you assisted in the Battle of Algeçiras Bay, even whilst sitting on the Rock. Apparently you sent wind for our squadron and kept their burning ships from lighting any of ours.”

“Oh, my Lord, I'm sorry you should have heard such gross exaggerations. Why, even my powers are not so great as to affect ships of the line that are some scores of miles away, and I was a prisoner on my parole at the time, you know. I feel my greatest contribution to the Navy would be a command at sea, my Lord.”

“Yes, most commanders do share that same opinion of themselves; unfortunately there are far more commanders than ships or even sloops to give them, as you know. Now, the Impressment service is always in need of energetic, resourceful men, and I understand you are quite the battler, and your swordmaster no slouch himself.”

Jack looked upon the First Lord in horror. “Swordmasters excel in beheadings, not in coppings! My Lord,” he added quickly. He thought of the first scar he obtained in the Navy, left by the flat iron of a woman who took against the notion of her husband's being pressed. Jack shuddered to think of the woman's fate had Stephen been his bondmate at the time. Swordmasters were not famed for their restraint when they perceived their bonded endangered.

The First Lord frowned at Jack. “I suppose we prefer our pressed men in one piece, with limited civilian casualties. Very well then, Aubrey, I have nothing afloat available. If a suitable command should come up, I will endeavour to keep your name under consideration. Good day to you.”

 

 **The Ride Home**  
With the weather fine, Jack and Stephen elected to ride back to Melbury from their visit to London. “Let me look to your pistols,” said Jack, as the trees came closer to the road. “You have no notion of hammering your flints.” Jack had learnt not to go near any of Stephen's edged weapons, but the man had little care for anything in the gun line.

“They are very well,” said Stephen, unwilling to open his holsters (a brood ball in one, a bottled six-inch West Indies _Dynastes_ in the other). “Do you apprehend any danger?”

“This is an ugly stretch of road, with all these disbanded soldiers turned loose. They made an attempt upon the mail not far from Aker's Cross. Come, let me have your pistols. I thought as much: what is this?”

“A Scarabaeus sacer ball,” said Stephen sulkily.

“What is a sacer ball?” asked Jack, holding the object in his hand. “A kind of grenado?”

“It is the repository of the eggs of the scarab, constructed from faecal matter. It belonged to a Sir Joseph Blaine of the Admiralty, an eminent member of the Royal Society. I prize it much.”

“By God,” cried Jack, thrusting it back into the holster and wiping his hand vehemently upon the horse, “I do wish you would leave animal excrement alone. So you have no pistols at all, I collect?”

“If you wish to be so absolute, no, I have not.”

“For a man whose profession is fighting, I find your neglect of pistols unaccountably odd, brother,” said Jack, dismounting and feeling the horse's leg. “There is an inn, not a bad inn, half a mile off the side-road: what do you say to lying there tonight?”

“Your mind is much disturbed by the thought of these robbers, highwaymen, footpads? Have you yet to learn to rely on my ability to protect you, with or without pistols?”

“I have every confidence in your ability once some villain comes within arm's length, or anywhere near; but if they should shoot at us from the dark of the forest half a cable's length away I'm not sure how your mastery of swordwork will save us or our horses from a pistolling. But however much I quake in fear of the odd ruffian, it is the tremble in my horse's leg that concerns me most this evening.” Jack remounted and they turned their horses towards the inn.

“You spoke just now about my being in a fighting profession. I am not a hired thug who has selected his career for the opportunity to kill as many persons as possible,” said Stephen, a little waspishly. “A swordmaster is what I _am_ , not a profession I have studied.”

“Why, brother, it seems I have offended you,” said Jack, peering at Stephen through the gathering shadows. “I am truly sorry for it. I meant no disparagement, I assure you.”

“It is an understandable mistake; I apologise if I spoke sharply. I am – we are – masters of swordplay, as the name reflects, yet our abilities and purpose go far beyond that. I wish the Latin term _custos animae_ were in more common use.”

A few yards down the side-road, a couple of shadowy figures emerged from the trees. Jack almost laughed at the leader's gruff warning to “Stand and deliver, guv'nor.” His humour was dowsed when a bullet flicked his horse's ear, drawing all his attention to managing its capers and preventing it from bolting.

Before the highwayman had finished his short threat, Stephen was off his mount, staying it with a quiet word, and swarmed upon the assailants in an almost inhuman way, with long sword in one hand and a short in the other. Jack had steadied his horse and dismounted just in time to see the graceful flow of his swordmaster's assault upon their accosters, glinting steel arcing through the twilight. The fight, if so one-sided an affair could be called such, was brief in the extreme: the gang had not reckoned on the small ill-favoured poorly-dressed man accompanying the Navy officer to be so accomplished a combatant. Jack's bands were covered by his coat, and his rings by gloves: they had not expected a swordmaster. Soon there was naught but frantic fleeing through the woods, leaving behind the bodies of two erstwhile companions headless on the ground.

“Hell and death, Stephen,” cried Jack. “You never leave anything for me to do.”

Stephen made no answer to this. He dropped his weapons as he made his way to his bonded, heedless of the dead, the horses, of anything.

Jack, familiar with the swordmaster's post-combat mood, led Stephen with skill born of long practice a discreet way into the cover of the trees, near enough to the horses (he hoped) to keep them settled and undisturbed by the corpses lying not far off.

Stephen, his own skill unimpaired, had worked most of Jack's clothes open, and was running his hands all over Jack's generous frame. Their coupling was as passionate and frenzied as usual after a battle, but oddly tender, Stephen frequently covering him with kisses and murmuring phrases in Catalan. Jack, nothing loath, returned the love-making as much as Stephen would allow. Afterwards Jack held him closely and Stephen murmured, “You were almost shot.”

Jack smiled against the sparse hair of Stephen’s head. “I am all right.”

“Yes, I am perfectly aware of your state of well-being,” said Stephen testily. “It's the principle of the thing.” He left Jack's side to gather his clothing and retrieve his swords.

Jack’s smile grew wider. “Will you look to your pistols, now, if I should ask?”

If the swordmaster sent Jack a pale-eyed glare it could not be seen in the gloom. “Perhaps. Marksmanship practice would not go amiss, in any case. You will note, however, that you are, as you say, 'all right'. It is unlikely I could have fought any more quickly with pistols than I did with my swords.”

“Very true.” Jack had finished arranging his clothes as best he could and stood over the extinguished footpads, debating whether he should clear away the mess, and if so, how. Ultimately he decided it was for the local authorities to manage, and the remains were currently enough in the shadows not to disturb unwarned passersby.

“'Tis a pity you will not earn rings for these. As clean decapitations as I have seen.”

“You are not satisfied with the number you have now, joy?” Before Jack could disclaim any such thing Stephen continued, “Of course the cuts were clean; they could hardly provide any sort of resistance to any trained swordmaster. I would disdain any rings even offered for such as they – mere ruffians of no ability. There is no honour in ridding the world of suchlike.”

“If it's not about the honour, why the beheadings?” asked Jack, curious.

“It comes naturally. I do not cogitate so much during a fight; it is rather instinctual. In a fight forced upon us, my objective is typically as many kills as quickly as possible. Beheadings are swift and certain, one of the more merciful ways to die.”

 

 **Melbury Lodge**  
Captain Aubrey entered the library of Melbury Lodge, where his swordmaster had several dozens of specimens spread out across the table. “Ah, Stephen, there you are!”

 _Naturally_ , thought Stephen, who always knew precisely where his bondmate was. Intellectually he was aware that this ability, like most of the powers of a swordmaster, did not travel in the other direction, but it was still difficult to fully comprehend a life without it. “Good day to you, Jack.”

“Mr Savile says he will be very happy to see us at the hunt tomorrow. Do you truly mean to ride that God-damned mule of yours?”

“I do.”

 _Making us the laughing-stock of the neighbourhood_ , thought Jack. “Well, as long as he can keep up with the rest of us, I suppose.”

“Certainly he will.” _At least I will stay on him, brother, which is more than I can foresee for you and your mettlesome gelding_ , Stephen forbore to add.

“Well, well, well,” said Jack settling into a comfortably stuffed armchair within speaking distance of his bondmate, but not so close as to be subjected to a detailed view of the specimens. “This is all working out very well, is it not? Delightful house, friendly neighbourhood, a welcoming hunt – just as we wanted, eh, Stephen?”

Stephen hummed noncommittally. He was absorbed in sorting his beetles. He'd never had excessive interest in them before, but he had recently met a very knowledgeable entomologist at a Royal Society meeting. Sir Joseph was good-humoured and articulate, had a number of remarkable insights into coleopterology, and his enthusiasm for his subject proved infectious.

“All this area lacks is some pretty girls. A few young charmers and we'd be all set,” said Jack.

“No girls about good-looking enough for you, is it, my dear? I thought you were rather enjoying your flirtation with the maid at the inn.”

“Oh, wenches! No, no, I mean pretty ladies. Young ladies. At dinners and dances and so forth. Marriageable ones.”

“Ah! You have a mind to be married, now, joy? I had not realised.”

“Well... I don't know. Perhaps not precisely in a hurry, but I ought to be married sometime. Have a son, carry on the family name. Now is as good a time as ever, I should think. I have money enough, a career – of a sort, if only this blasted peace don't last too long. Now that I've been so successful a commander, I'm sure to be made post some time or other. If I'm to be married, I should think sooner rather than later – nothing worse for a boy than to have for a father an elderly decrepit sort who can't take him riding or shooting; I'd much rather be still in my prime whilst my children are growing up. Also, I'm not likely to become any more attractive to the young ladies as I age; best get a move on before I'm too scarred about and hideous.”

“I see you have given this some thought.”

“Well, perhaps. At sea the endless sameness of the company at dinner can get so tedious – no offence, brother – ”

“None taken, I assure you. I've had much the same thought myself.”

“Yes, well, one gets to imagining that on land there will be a greater variety of company, including, one often hopes, some feasts for the eyes as well as the belly, eh, Stephen? Not that I've any objection to our neighbours, you understand; pleasant fellows, for the most part. But nothing too likely among the younger set, sad to say.”

“We have yet to meet all our neighbours. I understand there to be an entirely female household not too far from here.”

“Oh, do you mean Mapes? Yes, I've heard of them. Can't possibly be promising. Why, they are but a parcel of spinsters and widows! I understand the eldest of the girls is as old as the younger widow.”

Stephen frowned. “I was given to understand she was widowed quite young, not even into her thirties yet.”

“Very well, perhaps the widow may be of interest – at least someone wanted to marry her once. But she was in India, you know, and that is never kind on the complexion. Not to mention that the Company fellows out there are none too particular about their wives. I still maintain that in a family of three daughters, none of them married, the eldest near thirty already, nothing good is to be found.”

“May I remind you we are both about thirty ourselves?”

Jack waved a hand dismissively. “That means nothing. For men it is different. Why, we are bound and required to establish ourselves before we take on the life-long support of a wife and children! For young ladies, once they have completed their education, there is no more improvement to be had. I don't know how it is in Ireland or Spain or other foreign parts, but here in England, if a girl ain't married by her early twenties, you can be sure there is something very wrong with her.”

“Perhaps she chooses not to be married. I understand Mapes has considerable wealth and standing in these parts.”

“And thus if the daughters choose to live on their own wealth and not be bothered with gentlemen, that just furthers my argument. No, brother, I'm afraid should we meet them, we will find nothing there but disappointment.”

“Is it so very great a risk, to meet a houseful of young ladies who may not prove to be marriageable?”

“Oh, no, of course not, and I am always happy to meet people; besides, you cannot make an omelette from a sow's ear, you know.”

“My dear, that is profoundly true.”

 

 **Mapes Court**  
“Mama,” said Cecilia, looking demure. A slight dimple appeared between Sophie's brows. Cecilia looking demure always meant trouble.

“Yes, my love?” said Mrs Williams.

“Mama, do you know if it is true that Melbury Lodge has new tenants?”

Sophie's frown deepened. Everyone knew Melbury had new tenants. Cecilia was asking if Mama intended to make their acquaintance, and if so, would she please do so sooner than later?

Mrs Williams knew her second daughter nearly as well as her older sister did, and was well aware of Cecilia's real interest. “I have heard about new tenants, but have yet to meet any of the gentlemen,” she said in reproving tones.

“Gentlemen?” the youngest daughter spoke up, finally showing more interest in the conversation than in her dinner. “By any chance, would they be... young gentlemen?”

“Francesca!” cried Mrs Williams, at the same time as Cecilia hissed, “Frankie!”

Mrs Williams held the floor. “You will not be meeting gentleman of any kind, no, nor appearing in public at all if you cannot suppress such vulgar thoughts!”

“I beg your pardon, Mama,” said the abashed Frankie.

“Indeed, I doubt I will be making the acquaintance of Melbury's new tenants, as they appear to consist of a... a bonded pair.” She said the word ‘bonded’ as another might say ‘heathen’ or ‘criminal’.

“Mama!” cried Sophie, looking apologetically at her cousin. Diana sent her a warm glance with a small smile and a brief shake of the head, and looked down again to her plate.

“Oh, you know I mean no disparagement of your connexion with Diana, Sophie. You must learn not to be so sensitive, and assume everyone is speaking of you. Your arrangement with your cousin is of the very proper family form. Nothing at all like what occurs between the gentlemen referred to.”

Sophie forbore to speak further on the subject. Bonds of the type decried by her parent had existed for as long as humanity. Indeed, they were referenced in the Bible, the very first book, Genesis, as all the Williams' God-fearing household knew perfectly well. After Adam and Eve's expulsion, the forgiving God had granted Adam and his descendants special Gifts, powers over the wild elements that otherwise might have destroyed the frail humans. Eve and her descendants were granted the ability to enhance Gifted ones through bonding, a lifelong commitment of self, soul and body. As Eve and Adam naturally each had both male and female descendants, the powers over elements and the powers of bonding occurred among both sexes. Back in Biblical times it seemed that everyone had either a Gift or the Bond, but as the centuries passed they appeared to become diluted. Now perhaps only a third of the population possessed a Gift, and maybe a tenth had bonding powers.

Sophie was usually thankful for her own gift, in spite of the responsibilities that came with it, and she knew that she ought to be grateful that her own cousin had bonding powers; but she was also aware that the family-style bond was difficult for Diana, especially as she’d had very little choice in the matter. Mrs Villiers had arrived widowed and penniless at the Williams’ doorstep, having lived for the most part in India, first with her Army father and then with her Army husband. Mrs Williams, with three daughters yet to marry off, had been none too keen to take in another young lady, but had soon devised this plan to both enhance Sophie’s status, and depress any pretensions the beautiful, free-natured Mrs Villiers might have.

 **The Hunt**  
Dr Vining was on his way to call upon the ladies of Mapes when he saw Mr Savile's hunt gathered upon Polcary Down. "Mrs Williams can wait another hour," he reflected. "Or two, I am sure. Her concern is bound to be yet another exaggerated complaint with no foundation. 'Twill cause no harm to wait until later this morning. Or perhaps this afternoon." With this sure reasoning the doctor joined the other men gathered about a small copse, waiting for the hounds to pick up the scent.

Looking about, Dr Vining noticed two new faces in the hunt. One was a big red-faced man on a large gelding, well up to its rider's weight. The gentleman looked like your typical sailor, and sat like one too, braced hard forward as if he were riding the prow of a boat. The other newcomer was a slim gentleman, riding a mule, of all things. But more curious than his mount was how this meagre, ill-favoured, pale little man managed to be a swordmaster adept enough to provide his bondmate with several arm bands and even more rings, and be worth not only the long sword worn in the traditional fashion at his belt, but also the short swords attached to his thighs. The weapons and their harnesses were in a high state of care, but the man's clothes were rather more ragged, patched, and stained than most gentlemen would wear, even to a country hunt.

"And what danger does this fellow suppose will befall them during a Sussex hunt that would require the use of three weapons for defence?" mused the doctor indignantly.

However, the wondering, and the mild disapproval that came with having to wonder about anything new or different, soon disappeared in the wake of the arrival of two young ladies: one a dashing vision in a blue habit that matched her sparkling eyes, who controlled her gambolling mare with firm good-humour; the other young lady rather more subdued by comparison, yet still graceful on her quiet mount.

Dr Vining, seeing Captain Aubrey's undisguised staring at the two gentlewomen, ventured a quiet chuckle. “Ah, we have been indulged this morning with the gems of our modest hunt. Miss Williams and her swordmistress, Mrs Villiers, do not care to join us so often as we aged decrepits might wish, but it is always a treat when they do, eh?”

“Lord, yes, I should think so!” said Jack. “Her swordmistress, you say?” Belatedly, Jack noticed a short sword – he would have been more inclined to term it a dirk – belted jauntily and entirely impractically to the high waist of the blue habit. As the lady's horse continued to express its high spirits from being in the company of so many males, he saw also the flash of a knife rather more usefully fastened against one trim boot.

“Yes. Mrs Villiers' aunt has induced her to form a family bond with her cousin, Miss Williams. A convenient arrangement when an indigent widowed niece is thrust into one's household, I expect.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” said Jack absently. Mrs Villiers had got her mount settled, and was speaking quietly to Miss Williams, the colour high in her cheeks. Jack had the impression that the swordmistress had noticed his ill-mannered gawping, and reluctantly tore his gaze away, to find his own swordmaster speaking to him.

“There is that supposed fox we are hunting,” Stephen said, nodding towards a leaf-coloured streak flashing against the green slope. “Sure it is a vixen, however.” The two men watched the quarry's progress until a hound at last caught the scent and bounded after it, setting the whole pack baying.

The hunt followed hard on the dogs' heels. Mrs Villiers' mare did not lack for speed and she kept towards the front, Jack striving to keep his big gelding close by. They were next to one another when they came to a high fence. Jack expected the ladies to turn aside and use the nearby gate, but the swordmistress headed straight for the fence and Jack kept pace. As they jumped he turned in his seat to see how Mrs Villiers fared, only to find himself slipping over his horse's shoulder as it stumbled on the landing, its hooves having caught the top rail. Instinctively Jack called up a wind, to catch both himself and his mount, aiding the gelding back to its feet. The rest of the hunt surged around them, cursing the sudden gust as it caught at hats and coats. On the tail of the wind he could hear the joyous laughter of the lady in the blue habit.

Jack dismounted to check his horse for injury. Finding none, he had just remounted when Stephen and Miss Williams rode up. The young lady had elected to use the gate, with which Stephen had gallantly assisted her.

“All right, my dear?” he enquired mildly of Jack.

“Yes, yes,” said Jack impatiently. His bondmate would know if he wasn't. He smiled at Miss Williams, “Shall we go on then? Catch up with the rest?”

Miss Williams caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Yes, I suppose we had better.”

~o~

That night Sophie carefully tied her cap on before she blew out the candle and settled under the covers. She listened to the quiet noises of the household settling in for sleep until all was silent, until the shurring of her opening door and the light footsteps of Diana slipping into bed with her.

“Would my aunt still believe our bond so very proper if she knew about my visits?” teased Diana, breathing softly against Sophie's cheek.

“Oh, hush, Di! Must you do this?”

“Yes, I must. 'Tis bad enough that I have to sleep in a separate room. To have no contact at all would be intolerable.” Diana caught at the rings on Sophie's thumbs, twisting them gently to feel their secure fit on her bondmate. “Do you not feel it yourself?” The gold grew warm under her hands, pliable, almost living.

“Yes, I do; you know I like your visits. But Mama – ”

“My aunt has the most absurd notions regarding bonds. She knows nothing about it. This secrecy is appalling.”

“Would you prefer we not be bonded?” asked Sophie anxiously.

“And be sold off to the highest bidder instead? No, I am happy enough with you, my love. At least until an acceptable offer should come from someone who can bond with me fully. Or marry me.”

“No one has enticed you yet?” It was Sophie's turn to tease.

“Hmm...” Diana pretended to consider. “Dearest, you have been out nearly ten years, and Cissy five or more, and even Frankie a few. Have you yet to find anyone in this neighbourhood 'enticing'?”

Sophie giggled. “It may be we are too picky, you know.”

Diana arched an eyebrow. “You expect my standards to be lower than yours?”

Sophie sighed. “You have not my mother to please as well as yourself.”

“That's as may be, but what would best please my aunt Williams is a deep pocketbook and a respectable standing as a gentleman, and I assure you that my requirements do not go much farther.”

“Is that so?” This time Sophie's eyebrow quirked. “The new gentleman at this morning's hunt seemed quite taken with you.”

“That overgrown boy who could not remain on his horse?”

“He stayed on it!”

“Barely!” Diana laughed. “We all felt the wind he called to his aid. Did his prowess impress you, my love? Or perhaps his bracelets? Apparently the gold on his hands is just a tiny portion of that in his bank.”

“Oh, Diana, don't tease so! I only just met him.”

“Oh, but you are already taken with him! Don't deny it, sweetheart, I can feel it in you.” And on her as well, the growing heat in Sophie's cheeks warming her own.

“We've only just met,” whispered Sophie again. “I hardly know anything about him.”

“He would be a very helpful addition to the household, I am sure. Why, I expect he could have the clothes dried on the line in just a minute or two.”

Sophie giggled again.

Diana continued in a thoughtful tone, “And he could blow the leaves in a neat pile for the gardeners.”

Through her laughter Sophie protested, “Oh Di, hush now!”

“I wager he could thresh the corn you grow right off the stalks – ” Diana was interrupted by Sophie's hand on her mouth, which she proceeded to kiss.

Sophie quickly withdrew her hand and Diana sighed against her cheek, “Dearest, please...” She brought her hands around her bonded, caressing her slight back, her smooth shoulders and long slim arms.

Sophie pushed lightly back against Diana's chest with her own hands. “You know we can't. Mama says it's not necessary, or proper, within a family.”

“My aunt – ” Diana stopped herself. “Do you not feel the need yourself? Not at all?”

“I... I don't... I'm not...”

“I feel it. Pulling at me, night and day, dearest Sophie. This intimacy... it isn't harmful. No more than my being here, in your bed already. It will make the bond stronger, make us stronger. Your gift – you know it is your obligation to grow as much corn as you can, in these trying times,” Diana's tone took a note of humour, adopting the sound of the local magistrate.

“Would it, would it really make my Gift stronger?” Sophie's hands stopped pushing, and glided instead along Diana's side.

“Yes, my love, it really would. You could grow more corn for the multitudes, and strawberries for your jam, and peaches for your marmalade, and perhaps even _two_ blossoms on each rose bush, and maybe more than one sickly apricot – ”

“Oh Diana, you are – !”

What her swordmistress was remained unknown, as Diana covered Sophie's lips with her own.

 

Sometime later Sophie spoke a little breathlessly, “Still, you do think him eligible, do you not?”  
Diana's eyes opened wide. “You really are taken with him! All my efforts, and here you are still thinking of another man,” she added laughing.

“It was you he rode after.” This offered a little wistfully.

“Bah. He can chase me, if he likes.”

“But if you liked... How would that work?”

“What do you mean? If we liked each other well enough, I suppose we could marry.”

“He is already bonded.”

“Yes, obviously. I wouldn't bond with him, if that's what you mean.”

“But as a swordmistress, don't you need to bond? I mean, the inclination is quite strong, is it not?”

“Well, yes, and so I am. Here with you. And whilst you remain in your spinsterish state, we can easily remain in our bonded one. Make it a true bond, even.” Here Diana ceased conversation again with another deep kiss, and caresses designed to drive thoughts of bachelor gentlemen out of heads.

Apparently Sophie would not be distracted. “How would that even work? You married to a Gifted man, he bonded to his swordmaster, you bonded to me... What a household! Could that even work? I've never heard of a swordmistress married to a man she wasn't also bonded with.”

Diana shrugged. “Do you think the Company provided a Finishing School for Young Swordmistresses of Gentle Society, at which I could be taught all this? Old men and women like my aunt Williams establish rules to suit themselves, and we have to comply, whether it benefits us or not.” Diana kissed away the frown developing on Sophie's face. “I'll tell you how it is, I will marry this wind-worker, and you can have his swordmaster – ” she stopped at Sophie's outraged gasp. “You don't like my plan? I think it a capital notion! Or have you an objection to ugly little natural-born foreign men? I can't say as I blame you, now I think on it.”

“He was very kind,” Sophie said, always looking for the best. Especially as Diana tended to point out the worst. “Well-spoken. Very much the gentleman.”

“There we are then.” Diana smiled. “Our future adeptly settled. Now perhaps we can enjoy our present.” She drew one delicate foot up the length of Sophie's calf, lifting her nightdress away. This time Sophie's gasp contained much less outrage, and quite a bit more pleasure.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Dinner**  
Mrs Williams’ distaste for homogenous bonded pairs was more common in the generations of her forebears, but was rapidly becoming outdated, especially during these times of seemingly endless wars, one after the other; especially amongst those who fought in the wars, and their families. Many Navy men were settled in the Sussex Downs; like Jack they were drawn to the proximity of the sea, the easy travel to London and the Admiralty, and to Portsmouth as well.

If any of Melbury’s other neighbours shared Mrs Williams’ prejudice they were too polite to show it, or perhaps willing to overlook or forgive such an eccentricity in a pair of eligible wealthy bachelors; and if the newcomers had earned that wealth through successful exploits against the enemy, why, it would be near treasonous to be unfriendly.

Such were the feelings of Admiral and Mrs Blake, who soon held a dinner to welcome Captain Aubrey and Master Maturin to the neighbourhood. Amongst the others invited were naturally Mrs Williams and her three lovely daughters (with no less than ten thousand pounds each).

“But my dear Mrs Williams,” Admiral Blake was explaining at the head of the table, “unless we are to send our daughters to war – ”

“Heavens forbid!” cried Mrs Williams.

“Exactly! I am in complete agreement. So you must understand that our men must bond with each other. Our enemies have no compunction about it; we also must put forth our strongest abilities to keep England safe.”

“Hear him, hear him!” cried Admiral Haddock. “Our greatest challenge is that there are not enough swordmasters for all our gifted men.”

“Which is exactly my point!” cried Mrs Williams. “Do you know why we have so few swordmasters – why there are not enough for our Gifted? Because the men are being bonded to each other, so the swordmasters are not having children with their own wives, as God intended, and passing down their powers of the Bond.”

There was a sombre pause as the entire table digested these words, Mrs Williams’ volume having grown with her conviction. Jack was indignant upon Stephen’s behalf to hear these thoughtless words: that Stephen, who had lost a bondmate and baby at one fell swoop, should have to listen to them, with no opportunity to respond. Jack heard Stephen shift behind him, and struggled to master his emotion. Stephen should not have to bear Jack’s feelings on the matter, as well as his own.

“It’s a sad truth that war is very hard on swordmasters – hard on all who fight, of course, but especially upon our swordmasters, who often take the brunt of it,” said Admiral Blake.

“But surely that is because they are the best able to fight?” asked Miss Francesca Williams.

“Certainly, but then so are those of the enemy.”

“War is difficult on us all,” said Mrs Blake firmly. “And being bonded does not prevent a man from marrying and having children, as I can attest.” She smiled fondly up the table at her husband, who smiled warmly back.

“I am entirely of your opinion, ma’am,” cried Jack, “and I mean to do my duty, ha ha! I hope you all have received your invitations to the ball we are hosting at Melbury, on February 14th, the anniversary of the Battle of St Vincent. Having taken part in that glorious action, I always like to celebrate it with all the friends and shipmates I can gather. I should be very happy to see everyone there.”

There was a pleasant murmur of acquiescence around the table. Many questions were put to the Captain regarding the naval action, and even more suggestions were provided for the ball – how to manage the supper, which musicians to engage, and so forth.

However, soon Mrs Williams’ strident voice was making itself heard again. “It may be true that bonded Gifted men marry often enough,” she said, still doggedly pursuing her quarry, “but you cannot deny that bonded swordmasters rarely marry outside their bonds, and thus when they bond with other men the result is fewer swordmasters in the next generation. For which we all suffer, especially our Gifted.”

“Why is it that bonded swordmasters do not marry so very often? Do their bondmates discourage them?” asked Miss Simmons.

“Certainly not!” cried Jack. “I should be very happy for Master Maturin to wed, should he find a lady he admires, and should she return his affections.”

“That’s just it – what young lady would marry a man already bound soul and body to another?” said Mrs St John, a beautiful young matron who had been the toast of the neighbourhood in her courting days.

“No one,” said Jack, a dangerous light in his eyes, “could find a better husband than in a swordmaster, bonded or not. I can assure you – any bondmate could assure you – that they are loyal, generous, honourable, and as kind and gentlemanly as can be.”

Mrs Blake smiled gently. “Indeed, I hope all the young ladies here take note of your words, your most favourable recommendation. Speaking of marriage, tell me now, Mrs Vining, how does your daughter find life with her new husband up north in the wilds of Yorkshire?”

There was general laughter at this mild jest, born as much from general relief at the turn to safer topics as from amusement. Soon the table hummed quietly again with proper, genteel, and uncontroversial talk between the neighbouring diners.

~o~

“I hope I did not speak out of turn,” said Jack anxiously, back at Melbury. He’d had time to reflect, and whilst he could not think of anything potentially offensive in his little speech, he knew he had spoken heatedly, whilst under the influence of strong emotion. He was well aware of an unfortunate tendency to speak thoughtlessly at such times.

“Not at all, my dear,” said Stephen, smiling. “Your promotion of swordmasters as eligible mates was quite touching,” _if wholly unnecessary_ , he added privately.

“Is it true what that lady said, about swordmasters not marrying outside their bonds?”

“Possibly. I have not taken a census, nor have I read of any such enumeration.”

“Why d’ye suppose that is, if it is true?” mused Jack. He was vaguely aware of venturing upon dangerous ground, but Stephen seemed relaxed enough, almost approachable tonight. The excellent vintages provided by Admiral Blake had mellowed them both.

“I cannot speak for all swordmasters; but for myself I find a completion, a fulfilment in our bond that does not lead me to desire any additional intimate companionship. Nor do I wish to populate the earth with my offspring, burdened and overburdened as she seems to me at times already. But I speak only for myself; I am well aware that many people have a strong and natural inclination to procreate, and find a certain solace and charm in the feminine heart.”

“I certainly do,” said Jack, “and not only in the feminine heart, either. I quite look forward to the dancing at our ball. Don’t you, Stephen?”

“Sure, music and dancing are the order of the day at a ball.”

“Even if you do not mean to charm the ladies yourself, you will look your best, will you not, dear soul? Not just hide in the corner with the few other swordmasters?” Jack asked anxiously.

Stephen narrowed his eyes. “Your soul to the devil, Jack Aubrey; have you ever known me to act or dress improperly to the occasion? Am I such an embarrassment to you that you must need remind me of my duties as if I were a child at his first public appearance?”

“Oh no, no, not at all, Stephen, my deepest apologies.” Outwardly Jack was the picture of contrition; inwardly he was satisfied that Stephen would be at his very best socially at the upcoming event.

 

**The Ball**  
The ballroom was hung with naval bunting, spelling out the traditional phrases to amuse and inspire the sailors, unsuspected by the landspeople. It was full of colour and music and excited couples and near-couples, figuring away to the music of an enthusiastic band, under the watchful eyes of chaperones and bonded guardians, all intent upon enjoying themselves on such an auspicious occasion; as a formal introduction to the neighbourhood it was a masterstroke.

Captain Aubrey led out Miss Williams to start the ball; they made a handsome couple. Diana did not look best pleased at this, but gamely kept her eye upon her cousin, and her own person as free as possible from the eager attentions of what seemed scores of ineligible men. She felt a degree of annoyance at Jack’s swordmaster, who watched with her; but he was agreeable to talk with, and not as insufferably condescending as she had expected; besides, the Captain's arms and hands attested to a prowess that prevented men from pushing past him to accost her, at least from that side. They watched the dancers, desultorily conversing; she talked about India, and he about Catalonia and Ireland.

After a few sets, she turned to Swordmaster Maturin and said, “If you please, would you be so kind as to bring me something to drink? I would be much obliged. I shall grow faint before long, in this fug.”

Returning with two glasses of Sillery, he resumed his place next to Diana, displacing a sweating young curate who had been explaining himself to her with eager hope. As she took the glass from Stephen's hand, their fingers touched. “Villiers,” he began, but she broke across him.

“Listen, Maturin, you know my position here. I have no fortune of my own and no way to make it. I am a mere convenience to that vulgar, pretentious woman,” she said, glaring at Mrs Williams, who was complacently displaying her ignorance to an audience held captive nearby. “She allows me a family bond, a family bond, Maturin, do you hear? – which is all nonsense, of course, and she expects me to waste my youth helping Sophie fill the family coffers, and guard her until she can be disposed of to a man that my aunt approves, and then no doubt she will try to set me to bond with Cecilia. You can have no concept of the frustration, and the humiliation I feel, subject to the whim of that woman.”

“Why, Villiers,” he said, eyes once more following Jack, “I am truly sorry you are so situated. Indeed, we _compan'guardians_ are rarely free – ”

“I beg your pardon; I did not catch that word you used.”

“My apologies, Villiers, I inadvertently slipped into the use of the Catalan term, _compan'guardià_. As you are no doubt aware I have spent much of my life in that country, and I have yet to find an English equivalent that is as suitable.”

“I have no doubt of it. In France I was _la sabreuse_.”

“Indeed, a similar term to the English swordmistress. Like the Catalan word, the Irish _anamchara_ reflects a somewhat different concept.”

Diana raised an eyebrow. “In India I was _śamaśīramahilā_. That was in Bombay. From the Hindi, naturally. In Calcutta, of course, we were called _talōẏāranārī_.”

Stephen bowed. “As I was saying, regardless of the name for ourselves, we are not often free to choose our own paths, bound by nature, law, and custom as we are, to be committed for life, satellites to our bondmates. But allow me to say that in spite of the appearance of servitude, there is great reward to be found in the bond itself, a realisation of our true nature that is, perhaps paradoxically, liberating, and profoundly joyous.”

“How nice for you, Maturin, but you are a man, bonded to another man. I assure you it is quite different for me. Little respect does a swordmistress receive, and no freedom at all; she cannot travel the world as you can, but is domestically bound in tedious, almost mercantile positions; she must bear not only the disdain with which society views an unmarried female, but also the servitude of a swordmistress, in my case at the whim of that ––– , my aunt.” Stephen had never heard a woman say ––– before, and he smiled. “You smile,” she spat, “but though you make yourself pleasant, you don’t treat me as a fellow – how did you say? _compagnon-gardien_ – admit it – you wish to make up to me like all these bumpkins, and like them you have nothing to offer a woman of spirit, and a bonded one besides.”

There was a pause, and he said, “There is some truth to what you say; naturally as I am already bonded I cannot offer you that completion… but, Villiers, you are not quite fair. You look as desirable as you can, which you must be aware is prodigiously, and then you complain when men are drawn to you.”

Diana’s gaze had fixed on Jack, as Stephen spoke; after a moment, with a palpable effort, she turned to him, and saying, “I am sorry to be so disagreeable, sir,” began to question him about the education available to a young swordmaster in Europe.

The evening progressed and in time Jack and Sophie danced a second set together. The set ending, Jack, looking flushed and very well pleased, handed Sophie to Diana’s side. Stephen returned from the tables with two glasses of wine, relinquished them to the ladies without a word, and, with a quick assessing glance at Jack, departed for more.

Diana had expected Jack to ask her to dance before this, and was considering amending her previously determined refusal when he spoke at last.

“A capital evening, is it not? Mrs Villiers, will you do me the honour of joining me for the next set? If you dance, that is,” he said, blushing and belatedly wondering if there were some reason she might not be able to dance. “That is to say, you know, if you can, er, leave off watching your cousin,” with a glance at her dirk, worn even here, hung from a shawl-like affair down her back.

Diana, biting back a harsher response, said with cool dignity, “Sir, I am a swordmistress and my duty to my cousin, to whom I am bonded, prevents me from indulging in what would otherwise no doubt be a pleasurable pastime.”

“A sad loss indeed to all men here, but I honour your devotion to duty,” Jack said, smiling. He bowed to each of the ladies and crossed the floor to a knot of naval gentlemen, standing near the dais where the musicians were refreshing themselves.

Stephen returned to the ladies with two more glasses of wine, looking mildly surprised at Jack’s disappearance; through the bond he was aware of a tinge of discontent, overlaid by the blurred pleasure of perhaps more wine than was wise at this time of the evening; but seeing Jack among friends he remained with the ladies. Presently Diana relieved him of the second wine glass, and he bent his efforts to putting Sophie at her ease.

Sophie was expressing her sense of the charm lent the ball by all the naval touches. “Pray, Mr Maturin, can you tell me if the order of the flags hung about convey any particular meaning? Or are they mere decoration, in this case?”

“Ah, my dear Miss Williams, you ask a perspicacious question, indeed. Sure the flags carry meaning; however, it can be a complicated task deciphering them, as their meanings change over time. This is done to prevent the enemy from eavesdropping on the signals between vessels in a squadron, you understand.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” nodded Sophie, who understood very little at all about ships, vessels, or squadrons.

“Now as this ball is being held in honour of the great fleet action off Cape St Vincent, this day in 1797 – ”

“Led by Lord St Vincent,” said Sophie, wisely.

“Yes. Or Sir John Jervis, as he was styled at the time. As I was saying, since this ball is in honour of that battle, to interpret the flags correctly one must know the meanings as they were set then.”

“I understand,” said Sophie. “I am very sorry to have troubled you with my trivial question. Of course no one could now be expected – ”

Stephen quelled her with a look from his startlingly pale eyes. “As it happens, I consider myself something of an amateur linguist – studying languages is a pastime of mine. When I first started sailing, I was fascinated not only by the peculiar jargon the sailors use – almost a language of their own – but also this method of communication between vessels, using not only flags, but also, at night, coloured lanterns. It is remarkable how much can be said in a short period of time, using various combinations. I turned my mind, during my few moments of leisure, to the study and understanding of this unique form of communication; how it is used not only by the English but by all the European nations, and how vessels whose crews speak entirely separate languages can talk to each other using this universal nautical method.”

“I thought you mentioned that flags' meanings were kept secret, so the enemy could not read them?”

“You must understand that some signals are universal, such as those for distress, or having plague aboard.”

“Oh, of course. I'm so sorry to interrupt. Please do go on.”

“Having made the flags a study of mine, naturally I investigated its history as well. So I can inform you of a number of meanings I have discerned by glancing about the room. For example, along here we have: 'Chase in view – make more sail’; 'stranger in the fleet – close engagement’; and 'come within hail – important message'. Over by the tall plants in the corner – formerly tall, now somewhat wilted now by over-watering – ”

“The orange trees,” Sophie noted.

“Yes, exactly. The flags – ”

“They are quite young still – a year or two away from fruiting. If they survive the over-watering.”

“Precisely. Now as I was saying...” Stephen paused.

“Yes, please, do go on. I do beg your pardon for interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Stephen said with a short bow. “The flags there signify: 'Ship is healthy – entering harbour'; 'come in as close as possible – moor head and stern'; 'manoeuvring difficulty – feel your way past me' – ”

“I beg your pardon?”

“'To feel their way' is an expression used whilst travelling slowly through shallow water; no disrespect is intended, I assure you.”

Stephen was beginning to regret his evil genius that had prompted him down this path, when there was pause in the muted roar of many voices that allowed the harsh, petulant tones of Mrs Williams to become generally audible; by an unlucky chance, she was saying, “What else am I to do with an indigent niece when I have three daughters of my own to marry off?”

Sophie blushed, making her even lovelier, and looked down; Diana touched her arm, and leaning her head close, murmured in her ear. Stephen, charmed by the sight, moved a few steps away to afford them privacy.

Over by the musicians, Admiral Haddock, a near neighbour of Mapes, grimaced and said, “There’s a tartar could put the wind up any bosun I ever sailed with. The eldest daughter is a beauty, and a sweet dear child, but you want to watch yourself, you’ll have that to contend with.”

“She could be more pleasant, I confess,” Jack replied, “but her daughter is lovely indeed, and the niece is grace itself, very beautiful.”

Haddock smiled upon Jack with a rather bleary benevolence. “Ho, Aubrey, was you trying to get off with Mrs Villiers? You and half the county, but she ain’t having it. Says she’s bonded to her cousin, you know,’ he said, with a somewhat coarse laugh, “and wouldn’t we all like to know what goes on there, eh?”

“Why, surely, sir, a family bond is, er, an innocent one?”

“Aye, innocent, I dare say,” he responded, clearly meaning no such thing, “but it’s a fact that swordmistresses are no more amiable than swordmasters, mumchance lot they are as a rule, though yours is a pleasant enough fellow, Aubrey. Have you ever seen him dance, pray?”

“As it happens, sir, yes, I have, but it was only a sort of jig to my fiddle, one evening when we were perhaps a little gay. However, where he comes from, that is near Barcelona, apparently all folk dance together in public after church on Sundays...”

“Well, that Mrs Villiers won’t dance, not a bit of it. This ain’t the first ball I’ve seen her standing there, staring at Miss Williams, all the poor fellows drawn to her like moth to flame, and don’t she just burn them. Says, not a chance, cully, I’ve got my bondmate to consider.”

The hum of conversation was recovering when the room echoed to a burst of masculine laughter from near the music-stands, led by the stentorian tones of Captain Aubrey.

In the ensuing near-silence his quarterdeck voice made his response all too audible: “Oh, ha ha! Bondmate? They can have no notion of real bonding, and I dare say any so-called bond between two young ladies would be a fragile thing, in any case, vanishing when the right man comes along, you know.”

Sophie had gasped at the first words, and was now clearly shocked as well as embarrassed; Stephen could almost feel her dismay, and he could certainly sense Diana’s quick fury. Yet she hesitated, after the quick instinctive step towards Jack which had brought Stephen fully alert; she was mastering herself with difficulty when Mrs Williams spoke what was no doubt intended as a private remark to her neighbour, but in the sudden silence carried across the room, "Well! Even with her respectably bonded in the traditional family fashion, yet those dogs will still come sniffing around, as after a cur in heat."

With a low growl, Diana turned toward Jack; Stephen reached Jack’s side as Diana, who, striding across the floor, came to stand in front of him, the very picture of indignation. “Sir,” she cried, “you must withdraw that comment, insulting alike to a bonded pair and to womankind itself.”

Jack, his joviality unimpaired, replied, “I meant no offence. Of course young ladies are capable of real faithfulness and devotion; where would we men be if they weren't? I just meant, their bonds could not be, er,” coughing, “ratified or strengthened as a man's could...” He tailed off and glanced with a touch of anxiety at Stephen, who stood quietly by his side, all complaisance vanished from his face, cold pale eyes fixed upon Diana.

Swordmistress Villiers addressed Jack in formal tones: “Sir, I speak for my bonded: I demand satisfaction, and beg you will name an early day – tomorrow if possible – for your swordmaster to meet me. You will hear from my friends.”

She strode back to Sophie surrounded by near-silence, guests moving aside, and took Sophie’s arm. The ladies swept off, leaving Jack staring, appalled, at Stephen, who looked grave, with an effort containing a touch of what might have been amusement, or admiration.

Taking the glass of wine from Stephen’s hand Jack said, “Well, there’s a lee shore, and no mistake. I am sorry, Stephen,” downing its contents and adding, “I shall have to try to prevent the ball from broaching to, however,” and he turned away to his guests.

~o~

The ball did not exactly broach to – there was far too much delicious talk to be had over the interesting events, and generous amounts of capital punch to loosen the tongues – but the joy of carefree dancing had certainly vanished, and mothers took their daughters home, just as soon as they had secured private invitations to tea at their closest confidantes’ homes for the following day.

When they were finally in blessed peace, the servants tidying up the rooms in an efficient and thorough seaman-like manner, Jack asked Stephen, “Was what I said so very bad, then? I thought it was common knowledge.”

“Certainly it is commonly thought; whether that makes it ‘knowledge’ is debatable.”

“The way Mrs Williams speaks of her daughter’s bond – the mother’s emphasis on marriage – well, I can hardly see how I could have offended.”

“In the particular instance of Miss Williams’ and Mistress Villiers’ ‘family’ bond you may perhaps be correct; that it is not intended to be permanent, and likely to be dissolved if one of the young ladies becomes engaged to be married. However, your words were spoken generally, even if you may have had only the one instance in mind, and Mistress Villiers may have taken them to be a reflection on all bonds between women: Not just that they may on occasion be designed to be temporary, but that they must of necessity always be so.”

“And they ain’t? It’s just that I’ve never seen...”

“There are many things in this world I have not personally witnessed, yet I have no doubt that they exist.”

“But how would two women – I mean, what would they actually _do?_ How would that even work?”

“Jack,” said Stephen with some exasperation, “as I recall, the circumstances of our bonding were irregular, but I do believe you made some effort to seek privacy for the completion of it, am I correct?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“Do you think then, that I, or any others, have been witness to the intimate portions of the bonding of two women?”

“Oh no, of course not – ”

“And if some hypothetical persons should have been witness to such a thing, would they then publicise the manner of it? Do you think that sort of prurient knowledge is of the type I seek out?”

“Oh, Lord, Stephen, of course I did not intend such a thing! I do beg your pardon, old soul; it seems I can’t hardly open my mouth tonight, without I give offence.”

 

**The Duel**  
Master Maturin watched dispassionately as the magistrate and his assistant carefully marked the corners of the duelling ground, then drew the lines between to cordon off the square.

Captain Aubrey sidled up to his swordmaster and spoke in a low tone. "Do we really have to go through with this? Shouldn't I just apologise?"

"I believe it was your attempts at apologies last night that provided the proverbial straw for this morning's match."

Jack winced. "It's just – I know I was in the wrong, and she's just a girl! She is absurdly out-matched by you! This is ridiculous! You can't want to fight this duel."

"I never want to fight; I fight when I must," Stephen said sharply. Jack winced again. Caught between two of the touchiest swordmasters in existence was not a comfortable position, he reflected.

"Do not distress yourself, my dear; I have no intention of harming my opponent. It is evident to the meanest understanding that Mrs Villiers is determined to fight, and you have merely provided the excuse she needs. I do not believe her bondmate is any more desirous of this duel than you." Stephen nodded across the grounds to the fair young woman, clearly anxious and unhappy; and equally as lovely, despite the dull gray of the early morning and the late night all parties had enjoyed the previous evening. The dark-haired Villiers stood next to her, glowing with a brilliant fire unmatched by anyone else present; she anticipated the duel with as much pleasure as Miss Williams viewed it with dread.

"All young swordmasters reach this state – " Stephen continued.

"Mrs Villiers is not so very young, for a swordmaster. Or mistress, I should say."

"No, she is not. And that is even more to my point. No one else has seen fit to give Villiers the attention and the test of her mettle all swordmasters crave. Therefore the task falls to me, at this time. I am no more desirous of it than any of the swordmasters before me who have dodged and ducked the challenges issued by our young firebrand. Her time is overdue, and I need not shirk from the duties of an experienced swordmaster toward a younger one."

"No, no, of course not," murmured Jack. He still felt a little silly, the cause of such ridiculous circumstances, but Stephen's words provided reassurance that this absurd situation was not a complete waste, but had some purpose in the development of a swordmaster – or mistress, as vital as they were. It was true that female swordmistresses were not as valued as the more prevalent male, as they could not go to war, for obvious reasons. That had probably in part contributed to the neglect of Mrs Villiers' development, and thus led to this very situation. As Jack's reflections revolved he realised that his thoughtless words of the night before might have implied he shared the view that swordmistresses were unimportant, of no account - which was emphatically not the case. Naturally Jack had no wish to see women at war, neither Gifted nor swordmistresses, but that didn't mean he did not equally value their contributions at home - those whose gifts aided the country, and the swordmasters and -mistresses who aided the Gifted.

The judges completed the duelling grounds to their satisfaction, and intoned the ritual speeches to begin the match. Before they could finish asking if any apologies or other terms could satisfy the offended party and avoid the fight, Mrs Villiers interrupted. "No apologies will be accepted! Mr Aubrey made his sentiments quite clear, in public with many witnesses. Regardless of any condescending words he may speak this morning, his true attitude was quite obvious to all!"

In response to the outburst Jack's face reddened and his lips tightened in a mixture of chagrin and irritation. His feelings softened upon seeing the increasing distress of Miss Williams, however, who had glanced at him with an almost apologetic meekness; he managed a brief, kind answering smile before returning to his reflections. Stephen was right; Mrs Villiers needed a lesson taught, and the rest of them were merely witnesses to it, caught up in her net of need.

Stephen and Villiers entered the square and saluted one another. With the admonishment of the magistrate that touching the ground outside the square constituted forfeiture, and that otherwise the duel would complete upon the first blooding of one by the other, the duel began in earnest.

Jack looked on with sanguine interest. He was in no doubt of the outcome; whatever Stephen said he intended to do was what he would do. Jack was merely intrigued by how Stephen planned to test his opponent's mettle, and satisfy her urge to fight. Jack had yet to see anyone, swordmaster or any other fighter, even approach the level of Stephen's skill.

Poor Miss Williams, however, looked dreadfully pale, face crumpled in worry. Jack wished he could reassure her as to Mrs Villiers' own safety; if Stephen said he wouldn't hurt her he wouldn't. The worst blow would be to Mrs Villiers' pride (which might be a severe blow indeed, reflected Jack). But Mrs Villiers could not expect to win such a match, not against a swordmaster who had so many years' experience on her, and had been through several years of war consisting of many battles; all of which were attested to by the rings on Jack's fingers and the bands on his arms.

But as Miss Williams' technical opponent, her offender, it would be the height of impropriety for Jack to offer any words during the duel, least of all reassurance. Jack hoped anxiously that she had a supporter among the judges and the witnesses who had come out; someone she could rely on should she feel overcome.

The combatants themselves were focussed entirely on each other. Villiers lunged and lunged again, her face shining with wild glee, mouth forming a rictus of a smile. Stephen parried with ease, practicing a different type at each lunge. His challenge to himself was to use each of the eight standard ones, and their twelve variants. A bit of a trick for him, as Villiers' attacks did not show much variety.

Thus they danced around the square, Villiers pressing on as Stephen retreated from her thrusts; occasionally Stephen stepping forward, forcing Villiers back or to the side. She was quick and agile, Stephen granted her that; she had plenty of verve and some of her ripostes even showed a hint of wit. But she was terribly lacking in skill, control, subtlety: every move announced in advance, often aggressively overdone, even inaccurate. She could be quite competent, if properly trained: she had the strength, stamina, and dexterity, and the quickness of mind – he saw her learn a move or two even during the few minutes of their duel.

However, Stephen was growing bored. He had spent enough time on her in this match, this should settle her craving for a while: time to make an end. He intended to follow up his next parry with a thrust, give her a scratch on the arm. Show her how he'd been merely playing so far, could attack her successfully any time he choose.

But somehow, that time, that choice, never seemed to come. Again and again he'd parry without returning the thrust. Or his attack would push her back without injuring her. He couldn't seem to make himself effect even a scratch, as if her skin had become inviolable to him. Well, she was lovely, unscarred: there was a pleasure, a joy even, in this dance of swords with her. But he had decided, hadn't he? Why was his arm not following his will? Very well, if truly he didn't want to leave a mark on her, he would disarm her, nothing easier. Indeed, as soon as he thought it, it happened - her sword went flying from her hand, soaring over a judge's head, landing well outside reach from within the square. Stephen stood back, lowered his sword, and breathing elevated somewhat from his exertion, he said, "Do you yiel-"

"Never!" cried Villiers, and rushed upon him. What plan she could possibly have, Stephen could not tell: he raised his own sword automatically, but held sideways, his hand and wrist forward, in the centre, so that she should not impale herself or be carved in twain in her rush. Again she displayed her agility by adjusting her movement slightly to his right, grabbing his wrist and pulling his sword arm farther to his left, out of her way, and attempting to twist Stephen's body, and shove him bodily out of the square. However, Stephen was not so easily manipulated. He allowed his swordarm, sword still grasped, to be pulled across his body, but stood facing her squarely. He bent his knees to lower his weight, reached for her with his left arm, crossing under his right, and lifted her to use her own momentum to carry her over him and out of the square. This manoeuvre succeeded in that Villiers did indeed rise into the air to land outside the square. However, she had also lowered her own body during her rush, still tackling Stephen in his midsection, instead of going over his shoulder as he'd planned. Stephen went down as well, a little ignominiously.

Villiers quickly regained her feet, and grinning fantastically cried, "Aha! I have won!"

"What?! Nonsense!" said Stephen, scrambling back to his feet. "Enough is enough, you are well outside the limit of the duelling square."

"Yes, but you crossed the line first, Maturin! Your shoulder landed outside the line before I did!"

"Never!" said Stephen, but his eyes followed her pointing hand. A small circular depression showed in the dirt where his shoulder had landed, the line of the square neatly bisecting it.

“I'm afraid, sir,” said the magistrate's assistant apologetically, “I do believe your shoulder touched before Mrs– er, Swordmistress Villiers fell outside bounds.”

“Impossible,” whispered Stephen, with a puzzled frown, still staring at the imprint. Sure he hit the ground first; that was not the concern. He always knew where he was in the square – always – he would not have let himself fall outside it; not even by half an inch. He had already bent slightly to throw Villiers; he would have bent further upon falling – he knew his own length, and he knew where the line was. “Impossible,” he muttered again.

The magistrate hieratically intoned the ritual words, “Swordmaster Maturin forfeits by default of the line. Victory is awarded to Swordmistress Villiers.”

Jack approached Stephen, who was still staring at the ground in a bewildering mix of shock and outrage. “Are you all right, Stephen?”

Stephen looked distractedly up at his bondmate. “Yes, yes, very well. I am not hurt,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I am fine, except...”

“Except...?”

“This loss is impossible! I never –! Now, Jack, will you listen? I am not speaking as some intolerable vain arrogant coxcomb now. It is entirely conceivable for me to be bested in battle, or duel. It hasn't happened yet – not since I've first been bonded, but there are a half-dozen swordmasters of my calibre that I know of in Europe alone, and certainly many more throughout the world of whom I am simply unaware. A meeting with any of them could result in my defeat; I acknowledge that as a simple fact. But Villiers is not one of them!” Stephen hissed. “And she did not best me – I lost through a mistake – a careless mistake, easily prevented. I do not make such mistakes! Why–?! I do not see how this could have happened!”

Though Stephen had demanded he listen, Jack knew his words were directed more to himself. For Stephen to be rendered even slightly inarticulate, for these explosive feelings to be voiced, was unknown. No doubt Stephen would regret having revealed them later. However, Jack was used to an intensely emotional Stephen post-duel, or battle, though typically Stephen did not attempt to speak, but expressed himself physically – intensely, intimately physically. The bond between swordmaster and bondmate was created, strengthened, and renewed through sexual intimacy. Use of their fighting powers in defence of their bondmate brought on the urgent need to strengthen the bond, and swordmasters, including Stephen, followed the urge immediately, regardless of circumstances. Jack was used to finding privacy rapidly in such situations.

Already Jack had noticed Mrs Villiers and Miss Williams in close embrace, the swordmistress twirling her bondmate in an overflow of victorious celebration, Miss Williams smiling joyfully in intensity of relief. One of the witnesses was now attempting to guide them to their carriage. Miss Williams might not be familiar with the phenomenon, if Mrs Villiers had never before had opportunity to fight for her.

Jack cleared his throat, wondering whether to broach the subject with Stephen, and if so, how. Stephen must have followed the trend of Jack's thoughts, and brought himself out of his incredulous, recriminating mutterings. “No need, my dear; I am very sorry for it, but I am not feeling any such urge.”

“Oh no, of course.” There was no need for Stephen to apologise, naturally, although these post-battle embraces were among the most passionate, intensely pleasurable they ever experienced.

 

**The Goldsmithy**  
The four met again later that day, at the goldsmith's. One of Captain Aubrey's armbands and several of his rings were obliged to be melted down and re-formed into the appropriate number of rings for the victor, as half of his now belonged to her. Mrs Villiers looked, as Jack remarked privately to his swordmaster, like the cat that had got both the birds. “What birds?” asked Stephen.

“Why, the two in the bush, I suppose,” said Jack. “Or perhaps the ones the stone killed.”

“Might it be the early bird?”

Jack frowned, puzzling this out. “No, why would the bird be early just to be got by the cat? Cats aren't up early anyway; they sleep all day. What I mean to say is, she needn't look so smug about it, is my point.”

Miss Williams had the grace not to appear vulgarly smug, at least. She had her customary reserve, tempered with a pleased fondness whenever she looked at her swordmistress. Despite the rough setting and her plain dress, she had a glow about her she had lacked last night, in the midst of the glittering ball. Jack thought she looked lovelier than ever. He felt a natural pang upon removing his bands; however, he tempered the sense of loss with the thought that no-one could deserve them more, despite the unconventional method employed by the victor of the duel. He glanced at Stephen with some anxiety; his swordmaster stood unmoving, his eyes on the fire, his face giving nothing away. Ruefully Jack conceded that his remarks had been in error (although not intended to offend) as he had learnt from Stephen, at length, the previous evening. Perhaps that was why Stephen lost to Mistress Villiers, despite all his protestations.

Watching the sparks flying from the forge raise answering lights in Miss Williams’ eyes, Jack considered how well the rings might soon look upon her lovely hands, and could not wholeheartedly regret their loss.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Courtship**  
With this promising start Jack and Sophie's courtship proceeded apace. At dinner and tea, morning call and chance meeting in the village, Jack beamed cheerfully and Sophie glowed warmly back. When the weather cooperated they walked in the garden or, even better, rode about the countryside: Captain Aubrey and Miss Williams side by side, Master Maturin and Mistress Villiers trailing behind.

Beneath a sky of deep blue dotted with high white cloud, they turned their horses’ heads to the west, leaving the dusty road and ascending the gentle green slope, and so along a ridge above the close-cropped sheepwalk; as they climbed, they left behind the well-travelled, busy, homely domain of hedgerow and field, and entered an airier, quieter, cooler world, not distant but outside the familiar life below. Jack was aware of an extraordinary sense of peace and ease, arising from the broad prospect, the sea in the distance, and Miss Williams at his side. Jack's gelding, spirited and discontented creature though he usually was, seemed equally content to walk demurely alongside Sophie's pretty mare, the short, springy turf soft under his hooves.

Below them, the hillside fell away to the shining river, winding its way through a patchwork of fields, hedgerows covered in tangled ivy and flowering morning glory. Sophie looked with interest at the fields as they left their familiar neighbourhood behind, noting with satisfaction the autumn barley doing well, inviting Jack to admire the new-sprouted winter wheat, pale green against dark turned soil.

“I thought the Downs were more noted for their sheep?” said Jack, vague memories of husbandry arising from his childhood in Woolcombe.

“Oh yes, most of the time much of the Downs are devoted to sheepwalks, but the wheat failures of recent years and the difficulty of imports during the war made growing corn vitally important to us all,” said Sophie. “Although it is very true the chalk soils are not ideally suited to cereals, as I’m sure you already know.”

Jack knew nothing of the kind, but was very happy to listen to Miss Williams’ explanations, as his eyes wandered from the fields to the skies, some part of his mind always contemplating the weather, the movement of air and clouds, casting far away to the Channel, the Bay, the North Sea, the oceans that so defined their isle. 

Beyond the river the whale-backed downs marched, one behind the other, and far away lay the sea, sunlight glinting on the living waters. Far, far out, he saw what might have been a sail; he turned to share the discovery with Stephen, but seeing him deep in conversation with Mistress Villiers, he turned back to Sophie and bent his head to her with an unconscious sweetness of expression.

Observing them, Diana said to Stephen, “Attraction occurs between the most unlikely people, do you not agree? My cousin is quiet, reserved, almost secretive, like her precious seeds in their earth. Where lies her appeal to one who is so active, boisterous even, as your bondmate? One would think him more drawn to her sister Cecilia, with her fireworks.”

“Miss Williams is very lovely,” said Stephen.

“And poor Cissy is not? Yes, I grant you that. Are a woman’s looks so important to a man, then?”

“They are a great consideration, as you very well know.”

“Do not think that merely because we are thrown together this way, that because we converse civilly as friends, that I in any way am encouraging you to make up to me, Maturin.”

“Never in life, Villiers.”

“If I dress as well as I might on these excursions, it is in respect to myself and to my bondmate; and as one of the few pleasures I have in life: the challenge of looking as well as I can on the pittance my aunt Williams allows me. My appearance is not to invite the attentions of any chance male in the vicinity, merely to then coyly reject them, as someone once accused me of.”

“No-one could accuse you of being coy.”

“You know what it is that I look for – marriage to an equal, a man of independence, not one whose first allegiance will always be to his bondmate. I mean no disrespect to any – what did you call us, Maturin? – compan'guardià, but I have no interest in trailing after a husband whose eyes are ever on another.”

“Sure, no-one of spirit would tolerate such a state of affairs.”

“I would be happy to be bonded myself – fully bonded, not this half-hearted arrangement. This so-called family bond of ours is certain to be terminated once my cousin marries your Captain.”

“You look upon their marriage as a certainty?”

“Oh yes. If my aunt Williams has not yet drawn up the marriage settlements, she is certainly discussing them with her man of affairs. The whole village looks upon the union as settled. Why, does the thought of your bondmate conjoining with another distress you?”

“No, not at all. I merely thought it was yet early in their acquaintance to be considering life-long commitment.”

“Well, you would know Aubrey's true feelings on the matter better than anyone else. If they do not match what is reflected upon that radiant sanguine face of his, you might tip him the word that he could find himself more seriously entangled than he desires.”

 

**Music**  
Jack cautiously poked his head into the library. He was never quite sure what would greet him there. To his relief, it was a table strewn only with books, Stephen lost amongst them.

“There you are, Stephen!” he cried.

“Mmm,” said Stephen.

“Was the Admiral helpful with your request?”

“He was most generous, as you predicted. His library is entirely at my disposal, he assured me.”

“Excellent! I see you have found some volumes of interest.”

“A few, certainly. For all that the Navy is reliant upon the skills of the Gifted, naval writings on the subject rather take their existence for granted.”

“I assure you, the Navy does all it can to recruit and train Gifted officers and crewmen.”

“To be sure. The extant works are thorough on the development and strategic use of gifts; however, little is said about identification and understanding of them.”

“I suppose we leave all that to the philosophers.”

“Evidently. Unfortunately, Admiral Haddock's library, whilst laudably comprehensive on all matters nautical, has rather a dearth of philosophy.”

“I am most concerned to hear it.”

“It is of no moment. Perhaps the next time we find ourselves in London we might look into the booksellers there.”

“Certainly. In the meantime, may I entreat you to join me in playing our instruments? We have no dearth of sheet-music, I believe. We could perhaps make an attempt upon the new duettos just arrived the other day from London.”

“Music!” cried Stephen. “With all my heart. I am with you this moment.”

Tuning their instruments and arranging their scores were familiar preludes to an evening of shared pleasure, as intimate in its way as love-making. Jack rejoiced greatly in their duets, a pleasure greater than he found in almost anything else, except perhaps blue water sailing with chase in view, the eventual battle a near certainty. However, as much as he loved commanding a Navy vessel, that joy was more of a solitary nature, his mind alone forming, considering, evaluating strategies and outcomes. His companionship with Stephen was invaluable to him, but Stephen did not partake of his sheer pleasure in sailing, and his mind did not run to naval strategy – quite rightly, as those decisions were the purview of the captain alone.

Their music-making was of a wholly different nature, a sphere of their companionship that was in every sense a shared endeavour, as they jointly entered the harmonies, melodies, and arguments of the music, equally appreciating them with mind and spirit. As their experience together grew, so too did their ability to play together; not just their physical dexterity upon the strings, but also their knowledge of each other's inclinations, preferences, moods; they frequently found themselves moving with one accord from one piece to the next, no obvious choice having been made by either, and so it was this evening.

They started out with the masterly Corelli trio sonata in E, playing from memory, from the graceful, meditative adagio to the succinct and satisfying allegro; a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

Thus launched, they picked their way through a new Boccherini, a sonata in E flat; this was less successful. It wasn’t just their necessarily tentative rendition, but an uneasy quality, an unexpected austerity in the music itself. This unease was clear very early in the first movement, and with a glance or two, a raised eyebrow, they agreed to carry it through, then put it aside for mature consideration, perhaps for further adaptation. 

Turning to their familiar ’cello concerto in D, Boccherini in a more amiable mood, they dashed through the first allegro in fine style, tossing the initiative back and forth, calling a near-vocal quality from their strings, particularly in the transposed oboe parts; they wandered meditatively through the andante, and finished with the exuberant, lyrical second allegro.

The new Haydn duet in D was surprisingly rewarding, even on the first venture: it was familiar, they having heard it in Gibraltar, and, unlike so much of their music, it had required no adaptation, transposition or amalgamation of parts. Happily it called for both agility and great sweetness of expression, qualities Jack excelled at. It was exhilarating to share such a performance, and they finished it with much the same sense of accomplishment as Jack felt upon making a perfect landfall or riding out a good blow.

Thus they sawed away joyfully upon their instruments for some time, improvising upon themes from time to time, playing old and new music as their common spirit moved them. Sometimes Jack was concerned that their heightened understanding was primarily on Stephen's part, as Jack frequently found himself lost in the music, vaguely sensing Stephen's intuitive support. It was perhaps another aspect of the bond that flowed one way only.

“Do not distress yourself, joy. I assure you I follow your lead only to where I as well wish to go.” That he had long ago determined Jack to be the better musician of the two, Stephen kept to himself.

“Can you actually read my mind?” demanded Jack.

Stephen smiled a little. “No, no. Though sometimes it seems as if I might one day – you may read mine as well; we will know each other so well. In this instance it was only your slight rue, your wistfulness I felt, and noted your somewhat troubled gaze upon me.”

“If my gaze is troubled, it is this damn Locatelli that is disturbing me, brother. It was the most amazing thing – I heard an Italian quartetto play it once, in Mahon. Just before I met you, I believe. I was so enthralled by it I fear I may have considerably disturbed my seat-neighbours in my enthusiasm for it.

“I thought perhaps I could capture enough of it in an arrangement for violin and 'cello, but either my attempt is entirely inadequate or two instruments cannot be made to do the work of four in expressing the essence of this piece.”

“The minuet was delightful, and the first two movements quite lovely.”

“That's as may be, but it was the fourth movement that was truly remarkable, that I hoped to play now. But it just don't come out right.”

“Sure, two can often do more than one – perhaps even twice as much – and four yet double that again.” Jack frowned at his notations on the sheet before him, and Stephen meditated upon the properties of four. “Have you ever noticed, my dear, how often abstractions of all sorts are divided into four? Although much music is composed for two, or one or even three, yet here is an (apparently) irreducible piece for four. And it in turn is composed of four movements, as most modern symphonies are as well. The year is divided into four seasons, as we hear from Vivaldi and others. The directions of the compass number four –” here Jack opened his mouth, having had it drilled into him as a boy to box the compass into thirty-two – “Yes, brother? You have a comment?” Jack closed his mouth. “As I was saying, many concepts are considered in terms of four divisions, or categories, and one of those concepts is that of the Gifts.”

This assertion startled Jack into speech. “Why, there are so many different gifts – wind-working, rain-calling, fire-throwing, far-seeing, metal-working...”

“Certainly there are. What the ancients noticed – perhaps you might have as well – is that each gift acts upon one of four basic elements: that of air, as in your wind-working; water, as in rain-calling or the working of currents; fire; and – ”

“Metal, I suppose?”

“I was to say, earth, of which metal is a part, as it comes from ore which is of the earth. Wood-working and crop-raising, which is Miss Williams’ gift – ”

“Is it really? Crop-raising? I did not know that.”

“Conceivably you never asked. You have remarked upon the delights of her jams and marmalades often enough.”

“Oh, yes, certainly. But – ” Jack cut himself off.

“It is not mere partiality to their preparer that inclines you to find their taste so agreeable. Even the unbiased tongue notes their superiority to the average.”

“Sophie is superior to the average, ain't she? I mean, her jams. And marmalades.”

“They are indeed,” said Stephen, smiling to himself. “Bountiful fruits of the earth, urged to flavourful abundance by Sophie's gift. Earth, the fourth of the basic elements. Yet amongst the wisest of the ancients we find mention of a fifth element, often termed ‘aether’. A fifth element, I say.”

Jack was recalled from a reverie in which Sophie, jam, and tongues featured strongly. “A fifth? But you said there were four?”

“Indeed I did, but, come, my dear, I find your thoughts have drifted to other pleasures for this evening. Let us to bed, then, for all love.”

In bed, astride Jack's naked hips, Stephen caressed the broad expanse of his bondmate's back, tracing down the fading scars, and did not think of Diana Villiers.

~o~

Stephen took to staying at home during some of Jack's courtship excursions, leaving the couple under the chaperonage of Mistress Villiers alone. The first time this happened, Diana was much surprised. “Maturin let you out alone? He is not ill, is he?”

“Lord, no. I think perhaps he has finally become convinced that the Sussex countryside is not crawling with enemies ready to knock me on the head once his back is turned. He is at home with his books, or possibly his repulsive reptiles. Insects, I mean. He has taken to examining specimens. Busy as a bee with his beetles, oh ha ha ha!”

Diana smiled tightly.

“Stephen did charge me with a message for you: his very best compliments, and he is confident that we are entirely safe during your watch. I almost did not pass this message on, because I do not think it a very high compliment to me – I am perfectly capable of watching out for myself, and did so for nearly three decades before we was bonded; but it seems swordmasters – and mistresses, too, I mean – have this notion that their bondmates cannot be out of earshot for more than a moment or two or disaster will befall.”

With or without Swordmaster Maturin, disaster did not befall, however, and the courtship proceeded to its inevitable conclusion.

 

**The Engagement**  
Jack and Stephen arrived early to the engagement dinner at Mapes. There was some confusion in the household, and Cecilia met them at the door. "You will never believe the news!" she cried, confidentially. "Di had a right flaming row with Mama today, and she has been packed off to the Teapot's. Her and Sophie's bond has already been broke!"

"I am most concerned to hear it. How is Miss Williams?" asked Jack.

"The Teapot's?" inquired Stephen.

"Beg your pardon, Mr Lowndes, a cousin of ours. Vastly learned gentleman, but eccentric. Fancies himself a teapot at times. Tries to pour the tea right out his arm. Mama says someone needs to look after him, and if Cousin Diana is going to be so disobliging _here_ , she may as well go _there_ instead. Mama wanted Di to be my bondmate, now that Sophie is to be married," Cecilia confided. "But I don't know that I want my sister's hand-me-downs, in any case," she added airily.

"How is Sophie? Is she all right?" asked Jack again, anxiously.

"Oh, I dare say she will be well enough, now you are here," she answered archly. "She's been crying her eyes out all morning – they're dreadfully red – I expect Mama is scolding her about it now. How does that look, greeting your fiancé with tear-streaked swollen eyes!"

Miss William’s eyes were indeed as red and swollen as her sister had told them, and conversation at the table proceeded in as uncomfortable and uneven a manner as the bride-to-be’s blotched complexion. Once more Stephen felt fortunate that in his position as a swordmaster he was not required to join at the table, but stood quietly behind his bondmate. Occasionally this had felt awkward in this rural county, as he was often the only swordmaster present, and thus ranged along with the servants, rather than gathered in discreet conversation with other swordmasters.

Tonight he was unconcerned about social niceties, however; and let his mind wander to Dover, where Diana was bound, or had perhaps even arrived. If Sophie was this distraught, Mistress Villiers must be feeling even worse, unless Miss Williams’ emotions were from the scene caused and the ill-natured manner of the parting, rather than the disruption of the bond itself. Stephen spent the evening attempting to devise a plan to visit Dover; wondering if Villiers should even have any desire to see him; and debating whether any amongst his acquaintance could provide useful or welcome support for a swordmistress so abruptly sent away from her bondmate and family.

 

**Settlements**  
Sunlight slanted in the library window of Melbury Lodge, catching the iridescence of the _Buprestidae_ arrayed on the table, which sent glinting rays about the room as Master Maturin examined each one in turn.

The reflected light often caught at the eyes of the subfusc man sitting next to Captain Aubrey at the desk across the room. The mounds of paper in front of them served to nearly, but not quite, hide the small man, and each time another bright spot hit his pupil, the frown lines creasing his forehead deepened a little more, and he stifled a sigh, raising a hand to shade his face as best he could.

“Would you care to look over these settlements, Stephen?” said Jack. “They affect your finances as well.”

“No, I thank you, my dear,” said Stephen, ignoring the imploring look from the lawyer, the small subfusc man. “I’m sure you and Mr Skinner have all well in hand.” Mr Skinner shook his head and mouthed the word ‘No’, discreetly.

“The thing is,” said Jack, “the thing is, I think it’s rather Mrs Williams and her agent of business who have us all in hand. I keep explaining that I am bound to bear your interests in mind, bound by duty, as well as simple courtesy and plain common sense. However, she and that agent of hers argue back that it’s mine to manage – technically, mind you. A pure technicality.”

“And so it is: your wealth is yours.”

“What nonsense! I beg your pardon, dear soul, but so it is. Why, I would not have a tenth of this money but for you – the Navy does not promote men to commander without they have a swordmaster – and damn right they are, too, because without you we would not have had half our success. What wealth we have is as much yours as mine.”

“You are generosity itself, my dear, but by law and custom I am entitled only to my bond-price.”

“But you had no bond-price – you was taken prisoner!”

“You might consider not mentioning that to Mrs Williams, should she be as yet unaware.”

“What if you should wish to marry? We’d need funds for your marriage settlements as well.”

“Sure, that is very considerate in you, joy; but we could wait to concern ourselves with that circumstance should it ever come to pass.”

“Don’t you want to marry sometime, Stephen?”

Stephen smiled a little. “Someday, perhaps. If – how did you phrase it – I should admire a lady, and she should return my affections.”

“We may have to hope her affections don’t come with as high a price-tag. Oh, I don’t mean to be so crass, brother, but – the thing is, every time I mention about your needs, she – Mrs Williams, I mean – starts in on her remarks about men being bonded to other men and it’s all I can do to bite my tongue. Why, I wouldn’t be in any kind of position to offer for Sophie without you was my bondmate.” Jack paused. “I’m afraid that’s just what she means: she’d just as soon Sophie did not marry me at all.”

~o~

The pear hung invitingly by the kitchen gate of Melbury Lodge, just out of the postman’s reach, when a fortunate gust of wind brought the branch to his upraised hand. At the end of the short walk up to the house, taken leisurely to enjoy the ripe fruit, Tom Postman carefully wiped the sticky residue from his hands before offering the letters to Master Maturin, who had reached for them through the open window. 

“A warm day, is it not?” asked Stephen.

“Yes, sir, it most certainly is.”

“One could almost say hot, indeed. Your rounds must make you thirsty, perhaps wearied, in such a heat.”

“Sometimes, sir; that’s the lot of a postman.”

“I urge you to enjoy a pear – you will find them on the tree at the gate. Let us know if the ripe ones should be hanging out of reach; so many visitors have helped themselves to the lower ones.”

Stephen sorted out his letters from Jack’s, and sat down at the breakfast table with him. Stephen’s meagre pile included an intriguingly thick packet from Sir Joseph, which turned out to consist mostly of a very long missive from a mutual acquaintance of theirs, a Catalan gentleman named Bartolomeu.

Stephen was soon deep in his perusal of the report on the state of affairs in Catalonia, and disregarded most of Jack’s mild exclamations and comments on his own correspondence; until a sharp burst of shocked consternation from his bondmate that quickly swelled into anger and despair brought the swordmaster’s attention up to a tight, drawn visage staring down at a letter than trembled slightly in Jack’s clenched fingers.

“Why, my dear, what is amiss?” said Stephen.

“Jackson has failed. My prize agent – our prize agent. That fellow of Mrs Williams’ was trying to get some documents from him, and his partner kept putting him off. Now we learn why – the man has up and run. Jackson has run off to Europe, taking my – our money with him.”

“I am much concerned to hear it, joy. Will you explain to me now: I thought you banked with Hoare’s?”

“Oh yes, absolutely, but my bankers don’t get the money until it is released from the prize court, you see; and often that takes so long… Jackson receives the awards as the court releases them. He was supposed to then put them into funds, however,” here Jack looked over with despondence at another letter, “apparently he did not always do that either.” He picked up yet another document, and then added, “My only consolation is that your account appears to be safe.”

“My account?”

“Yes, when you first refused to take any of your prize-money, I established an account for your use only, should you ever have need of it. Your shares have always gone into it; I have verified that every quarter when the statements came in. I’m afraid it ain’t much, not compared to my commander’s portion, but it is something.” Jack managed a smile. “It will keep you in short swords and scabbards, at any rate.”

“Sure, and you must make use of it yourself, as you need.”

“No, I must absolutely not! Stephen, that’s precisely – well, never mind that. We may have to use it for our daily living expenses, if it comes to that; but I won’t touch it past that.” Jack looked glumly amongst the papers now scattered across the table. “I simply can’t believe it. Jackson! He was well-established, reputable, when I started with him, and that was years ago. Boscawen – Admiral Boscawen now, my captain when I earned my first prize money – recommended him to me, having employed him himself for many years. Never had any trouble; no hint of any scandal, and now this…” He sighed. “At least we can keep living here at Melbury; the year’s lease was paid up in advance. But the hunters will have to go; and most of the servants, too; I’m afraid. We simply won’t have enough to pay their keep.”

“Sure, this house is roomy enough. Miss Williams will be quite comfortable here, after she becomes Mrs Aubrey.”

Jack gave a short, hard laugh. “There will be no Mrs Aubrey; no, not in the immediate future. Nor never, not until I’m made post and given a ship. Mrs Williams has already sent a letter full of indignation,” and of vile imprecations at Mr Aubrey’s dastardly attempt to deceive them, but this Jack did not choose to share; “she has already called the wedding off.”

“Miss Williams is of age, is she not? Should that not be her decision?”

“Well, yes, but she should certainly agree with her mother. Damn it all, I agree with her! Without I am able to support a wife and family, I should not be marrying anyone. As it stands, I’ll be lucky to support us.” Jack sighed heavily. “At least your desire to visit London more often will be fulfilled. I’ll be positively haunting the Admiralty until I get a ship.”

Both men returned to their cogitations. Stephen tried to resume his reading of Bartolemeu’s letter, but found his being too embroiled with the twisted mix of his bondmate’s emotions. Stephen was not concerned with the lack of funds; and as attached to his hunters and providing for his shipmates as Jack was, he did not think the captain was overly worried about his relative poverty either. Jack was too used to the sailor’s life of alternating plenty and dearth to feel much else than resigned at the turn of affairs. Curiously, Stephen felt his heart twist with Jack’s greatest loss: the thwarting of his marriage prospects. Stephen had not supposed his own emotions affected by Jack’s courting of Miss Williams, and was at something of a loss to understand his own want of equanimity.

“Do you have any desire to hunt this man Jackson down and strike off his head?” asked Jack, breaking into Stephen’s reflections. 

“No, that urge is reserved for times you are in immediate mortal danger.” 

“Well, I almost do,” said Jack. “Would the urge come to you if I was to find him and induce him to attack me? Because right now it would be such a pleasure to see his head bouncing on the pavement.”

~o~

Mother Williams was triumphant in her proclamation that she “knew it all along. There is something not quite right in a man living with another, bonded or no.”

Sophie, dutiful daughter that she was, agreed that the wedding was off, but showed the steely core she inherited from her mother by refusing to break the engagement.

“Unless you wish me to release you,” she said anxiously, looking searchingly into Jack’s eyes. “I do not mean to keep you bound to me indefinitely, should you rather be free in the midst of this uncertainty.”

“Never in life!” cried Jack. “But, dearest, please do not feel obliged to wait for me forever. With this blasted – blessed peace, I do not know when I’ll have a ship again, and can support us properly.”

Stephen had wandered away, having caught a glimpse of a small animal rustling in a tussock nearby. Closer inspection revealed a fine example of _Apodemus sylvaticus_. It was unusual enough to see a wood mouse in broad daylight, and a reason to stray from the couple's immediate vicinity was welcome. Bad enough he should suffer the waves of bittersweet sentimentality pouring from his bondmate, without listening to the maudlin gushing of the lovers’ words. Suddenly he had the answer to a mystery that had long confounded him: why so many swordmasters were content to sleep outside their bondmate’s door.

As he observed the creature there was a sudden twitch and the mouse was struggling in the jaws of a _Vipera berus_. Rapidly, as snake engorgements go, the unfortunate rodent disappeared. The reptile remained, fattened, lethargic, lazing in the sun as its digestion slowly worked on its meal.

 

**Love in a Cottage**  
Despite the reduction of invitations and the general retrenchment of Captain Aubrey’s social life, he and Miss Williams still found themselves in one another’s company on various occasions; occasions too few to satisfy the couple, but by far too many to leave Mrs Williams at ease. She took her daughters off to Bath, to heal her eldest’s broken hopes with the waters, and tempt her with fresh faces.

Now Jack finally satisfied Stephen’s own wish to travel to London. “May as well move there altogether,” said Jack. “No need to be fagging up and down when I aim to be on the Admiralty’s doorstep more days than not.”

“I have an acquaintance who has offered us a small cottage of his at Hampstead. He would rather it be inhabited, looked after, than left vacant, he has assured me. It may be a bit distant from Whitehall…”

“Not at all!” cried Jack. “A small cottage on the heath just outside London sounds ideal. Let us remove there at once.”

~o~

The following day found them installed in the cottage, Jack and Stephen having little left in the form of possessions for which to make arrangements; and the captain being quite used to weighing anchor at a moment’s notice.

The next morning Stephen woke to the smell of coffee, pleasantly pervading the whole cottage.

“We’re for the Admiralty today, Stephen, if you please. I mean to start as I plan to go on, putting my face and my case before them until they give me a ship to get rid of me.”

The same strategy seemed to have occurred to more than a few other officers: after a pleasant ninety minutes’ walk, south through the Heath and the agricultural land of the former Marylebone Park, delayed only a matter of some few moments by Stephen’s discoveries ( _damn reptiles_ , thought Jack – though the birds were pleasant enough – _he’d be at it for hours if I didn’t haul him along_ ) through Mayfair and into Whitehall, Jack brushed himself and his swordmaster off, tweaked Stephen’s clothing straight, plucked partridge down out of his hair, and led him through the familiar portal and up the stairs to the crowded waiting room; there was a fine display of uniformed magnificence in the room, set off nicely by the simpler garb of the accompanying swordmasters. Captain Aubrey greeted his several acquaintances; the response was cordial all around, introductions prompt for the two pairs previously unknown to him; but general conversation lapsed as, one by one, each returned to his private concerns, only starting up again when there was a new arrival. An observer would have noticed other differences between officers and swordmasters, besides their manner of dress: the officers were in general self-conscious, constrained, anxious in varying degrees, whilst the swordmasters, though alert, were calm and as it were detached; no danger here, or at least none that could be averted by skill or ferocity. From time to time, a name would be called, and a pair would disappear into the inner sanctum, most often to return after a very few minutes, and frequently hard-pressed to maintain the appearance of equanimity. Occasionally, there would be a longer pause; after one such, Lieutenant Roche emerged radiant with joy, his swordmaster smiling tolerantly.

When Aubrey’s turn came, they found St Vincent in no obliging mood. Brenton, his swordmaster, who always made Jack uneasy, sat quietly in a deep armchair near the fire, grim face alert to every nuance. The interview was brief: looking up with an unwelcoming, cold and piercing eye, St Vincent said, “You again, Aubrey? I have no new answer for you: it is not in contemplation to promote you at this time. Anything else? No? Good day to you, then.”

“My Lord, by your leave, a moment – I have come here for another purpose, my Lord. To drop my claim to post rank in the hope of another sloop.”

“What is all this talk about ‘dropping your claim’?” said St Vincent coldly. “There is no claim.”

“The success of _Regina_ ’s cruise was unprecedented, my Lord. We took something over two hundred thousand pounds of shipping, my Lord, including the _Fuococacare_ , a xebec-frigate with thirty-two fire throwers.”

“She was a privateer, sir.”

“Only by a damned lawyer's quibble,” said Jack, his voice rising, as were both swordmasters.

“Brenton, do not stir. Now what the fucking hell is this language to me, sir? Do you know who you are talking to, sir? Do you know where you are?”

“I beg your pardon, my Lord.”

“You took a privateer nobody has ever heard of, with a well-manned King's sloop at the loss of three men, and you presume to claim promotion to post rank.”

“And eight wounded. If an action is to be rated according to the casualty-list, my Lord, I beg leave to remind you that your flagship at the Battle of St Vincent had one killed and five wounded.”

“Do you presume to stand there and compare a great fleet action with a – ”

“With a what, sir?” cried Jack, flushing red.

“Damn your impudence, sir! Do you think you and your swordmaster glaring at me can intimidate me? Young commanders with more rings than sense now run the Admiralty, is that it? I have nothing more to say to you: good day.”

The people in the corridor saw Captain Aubrey stride past, rush down the stairs and vanish into the courtyard. His swordmaster followed with seeming unhurry, yet still remained close behind his bondmate.

As they turned to walk down The Mall, Jack stopped abruptly to face him. “Stephen, I am very sorry if I put you in an awkward position, back there.”

Stephen said mildly, “Not at all, my dear. That was unusually warm for an Admiralty interview, I believe.”

“Yes. Yes, it was. And I meant to put my case so tactfully, too: I was all set to have my ducks sailing in line, as neat as ever St Vincent had any squadron.”

“Do ducks sail, then? I was not aware.”

“No, no, of course not. I meant swim. They swim all in a line, you must have seen; they tack in succession as easy as kiss my hand. My arguments were to be presented just as smoothly, you see, one after the other.”

They walked on in silence for some moments, Stephen meditating upon Jack’s ability to press every English expression into nautical usage. Jack chuckled softly, which surprised Stephen out of his reverie and into speaking. “You are not too disturbed by the result of this morning’s encounter, then?”

“Well, I could have handled myself better. With you at my side sometimes I forget I ought not to take on quite anyone in the world, even if I could. But what I was just thinking was that Old Jarvie, though a bit put out, it is true, will not find it so easy to forget me, neither.” Jack smiled, then turned serious again. “Brenton seems as fierce as ever. Have you ever spoke to him, Stephen?”

“I have not. Such a morose habit of mind he has; but his is a sorry fate, sure. He must have an inordinately strong attachment to life to survive such disastrous injuries; I am sure I should not wish to.” He had no further comment and Jack left him to his reflections.

Jack knew of Brenton’s prowess, of course; he had been a prodigious fighter in his day. At the Battle of St Vincent a single ball had swept off his right arm above the elbow, breaking his right leg as well in dashing him against a quarterdeck gun-carriage; his life had been despaired of, but St Vincent had refused to let him go, and though the leg had healed badly, making even walking difficult, he still went armed, wielding his sword left-handed; however, St Vincent had refused further active commissions. Thinking uneasily of Stephen’s words, Jack tried to remember seeing a similarly disabled swordmaster; he had seen injured ones, of course, but nothing in the nature of permanent damage. In fact, on reflection, he could not remember seeing a disbonded swordmaster, barring the bereaved.

As they approached The Strand, Jack said, “Should we stop at Napier’s? Do you need anything?”

“How is our stock of staff paper?”

“I believe there’s at least a couple of quires.”

“No, then. But I would welcome the opportunity to visit a bookseller.”

~o~

It was late morning when they called at Robert Saunders Dundas’ house in Bedford Street; there they found Heneage Dundas, enjoying one of his infrequent periods of peace with his elder brother. Jack recounted his interview with the First Lord over the billiard table, finishing with, “You would not credit, Hen, how I was shaking in my boots. If Stephen had not been there to fend off Jarvie and Brenton whilst I made my escape, I dare say I would be nothing but a few disconnected gobbets by now, being picked over by ravens on the Horse Guards Parade.” 

“Oh, very likely,” Heneage replied. “But, Jack, did you really compare your taking of the _Fuococacare_ with the Battle of St Vincent? That is bearding the lion, indeed.” 

“Well, he ain’t in a hurry to give me anything, so I might as well be hanged for a lion as for a lamb.” 

Heneage glanced at the swordmaster, curled on a settee under a window commanding a view of the garden of St Paul’s; he had looked up at his name, but with an abstracted air; disappointing, that, as he had a pleasant way of capping Jack’s idiosyncratic maxims, much relished by Dundas.

Later, over dinner at Lord Keith’s residence in Piccadilly, Jack found himself once again recounting the tale, this time to Lady Keith. “I shall write to him, Jacky dear, to urge your promotion as well as a commission; I am sure you have deserved better treatment at his hands.”

“I should be very glad of your support, dear Queeney, not to say honoured, but pray do not mention a promotion; he flew into a rage when I mentioned it. Better to aim rather lower, I think; do not you agree, Stephen?” No response. Turning, he beheld Stephen standing, hands clasped behind his back, his eyes far away. “I said, Stephen, would you not agree?” 

“Certainly,” the swordmaster replied, with a positive emphasis; but Jack was morally certain he had no idea what they had been saying. 

A prolonged symposium followed dinner, a lively discussion about dockyard corruption, accompanied by a very fine port, with Jack, Lord Keith, and three other guests, together with the two swordmasters, seated at one end of the long table. Stephen said little, as was his habit; he smiled from time to time, his abstraction evident, at least to Jack. On one of those occasions he asked, aside, what was amusing; Stephen replied, “Why, I was just thinking how pleasant it would be if there were some restraint practised during eager general conversation; polyphony may be all very well in a concerto, but simultaneous speech does not improve the communication of ideas, quite the contrary.”

~o~

In the early evening they returned across the heath; it had been a wet day and the nights were drawing in.

At the cottage, Stephen made directly for his private table, put down his new books, and addressed himself to an untidy sheaf of papers there, as Jack stirred up the banked fire on the hearth. Having shifted his clothes, Jack returned to the sitting room; drawing on a pair of heavy boots, he took up a small axe and walked out; in the interest of economy, they were eking out their coal with deadwood from the surrounding heath.

He returned not long after, bright red and cheerful, having gathered three or four loads of deadwood; the fire was dying down, and he stirred it up again, fed in a small shovelful of coal and topped it with a few logs; Stephen was still writing rapidly, showing no sign of having done anything else in the interim. “I’m just going to chop up the new wood, Stephen – I say, Stephen?” – Stephen looked up, a little blankly, at his name – “I was just considering, should you like some sword practice? Because I wager you could reduce these logs and branches to kindling in no time, oh, ha ha!”

Shaking his head, looking bewildered, Stephen answered, “Jack, can you possibly imagine I would – ” but stopped, apprehending all the signs of Jack meditating a stroke of wit. 

“With this peace, you must be concerned about losing your edge. Oh, ha ha.” Stephen scowled, but Jack’s honest mirth was irresistible: his whole body heaved, his broad smile nearly eclipsing his bright eyes, spilling tears onto his red cheeks. “Oh, Stephen, did you smoke it? Losing your edge, oh dear.” Wiping his eyes, still chuckling, he went out, leaving a brighter silence behind; soon the sounds of the axe were heard. Stephen returned to his papers.

In time Jack appeared again, carrying in an armful of wood which he stacked by the fire. Removing coat and boots, he busied himself with swabbing out the scullery; that done with his usual brisk efficiency, he made a pot of coffee, which he carried into the sitting-room, where Stephen was still writing.

“A capital thing, a good fire in this chill,” he said, busy with the fire iron. “What are you about, Stephen?” Filling a second cup, he set it down before his swordmaster, seeing as he did nothing on the table but sheet music and manuscript paper.

“I was considering your Locatelli quartet this morning, whilst you were deep in nautical talk, and thought to attempt a further adaptation of the fourth movement – as I see you have, also. Between us, perhaps we may have solved your conundrum, how to do with two what seemed so perfect, played by four. It’s done, but I’m still copying the last pages. I’d like to try it tonight, however, if you are amenable.”

“Give me five minutes and I am your man, Stephen,” Jack cried. “I can look over your shoulder for the last part.” He gulped down a near-scalding cup of coffee, fetched his violin, and came to sit at the table; he read the score, which now displayed interpolations in the margins and above whole crossed-out staves, many annotations in two hands, and three interleaved freehand sheets, with grave attention. 

Sharing out the last of the coffee between their cups, they discussed the piece and tuned their instruments; by now they were familiar with the triumphant first movement and the slow, thoughtful second; they played them creditably and with pleasure. The minuet that followed was usually a joy to play; but when they paused to re-tune for a first attempt on the rewritten fourth, Stephen could feel a sadness, a melancholy that Jack had been trying to bury under forced cheerfulness, stealing upon his bondmate. “My dear, should you like to forego this? You are low in your spirits, I find.”

“I beg your pardon, Stephen. I must not complain, but sometimes I cannot help thinking where we would be – you and I and Sophie – had that wretch not bolted for the Continent with our fortune. Married and settled in our own home, perhaps, by now.”

“I am sorry for it, Jack. There is not a sweeter woman in England than your Sophie, nor a truer.”

“I know it, Stephen. I am very lucky, to have the affection and faith of such a lady. Indeed, I have not given up hope – we are still engaged, the wedding is just postponed, indefinitely postponed. And I am not alone; I still have you, here by my side.”

“Always, my dear. Shall we try the fourth, now?”

The final movement was curiously difficult, some of its flow hampered by their halting progress through the unfamiliar, altered parts; but Jack began to recognise the spirit that had so enthralled him when he first heard it, and when the violin, whispering, brought them to the end of his copy, he rose and stood behind Stephen, reading with him, joining in perfect accord, together drawing out from the page the noble conclusion.

**Author's Note:**

> If the section called "Melbury Lodge" sounds familiar, it's because it's a modification for this 'verse of [Eve of the Hunt](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1088547).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Intangible](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651931) by [JessamyGriffith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/pseuds/JessamyGriffith)
  * [Cover Art for Juerga](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413889) by [JessamyGriffith](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessamyGriffith/pseuds/JessamyGriffith)




End file.
